


Little big guy

by TheIceQueen



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 13-Year-Old, 17-Year-Old, Absent John Winchester, Bad Parent John Winchester, Blood, Caretaker Sam Winchester, Gen, Hunters & Hunting, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Blood, Pre-Canon, Stitches, Whumptober 2019, Year 1996, Young Dean Winchester, Young Sam Winchester, Young Winchesters (Supernatural)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-17
Updated: 2019-10-17
Packaged: 2020-12-21 02:48:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21067541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheIceQueen/pseuds/TheIceQueen
Summary: Dean is dropped of at the motel by John, who has to finish up the case. Sam has to pick up where John shouldn't have left.





	Little big guy

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt:  
Whumptober 2019 #no.11 – Stitches

”Where’s dad?”

Sam stepped back, letting Dean enter the motel room. Dean did his best to hide the hiss of pain as he dropped his duffel on the bed. He heard the door close behind him and could feel Sam’s eyes on his back.

“Dean?”

There was no way around this, and it didn’t get better for either of them to wait. Dean sighed as he sat down on the bed looking at his younger brother, still standing frozen at the door.

“He had to go back we didn’t finish the hunt before…” Dean instinctively rubbed his right shoulder, hoping that the cut on the back of it was as insignificant as his dad had told him. “…before he had to drive me home.”

It hurt to even say it. He should have been able to handle himself on hunts by now, at least able to stay safe and not delay his father’s work.

“How bad is it? You’re bleeding.”

Dean had hoped that the bandage would have held up a little longer, but he might as well get on with it anyway.

“Sam.” Wanting to explain this calmly and slow, he padded the empty space on the mattress next to him.

The gesture had quite the opposite effect on Sam, who took a step back, eyes wide open. “Dean, how bad?”

“Hey, hey. Sammy.” Dean jumped up and rushed to grab Sam’s shoulders. “I’m all good. It’s just a small cut.”

Sam looked Dean in the eyes for a long moment. Eventually, it seemed as if he believed him but still looked suspicious and a little nervous. Dean pulled him over and they sat on the bed.

“It’s nothing, Sam… Really.”

Sam shook his head slowly. “Something is wrong. Why are you nervous?”

Damn his brother’s ability to read him like an open book. Dean would have preferred to not be nervous about this. Especially because he was anxious for both of them now.

“You know we’ve been in this state for over two months now, right?”

Sam frowned, clearly not getting where he was going with this.

“We were here half a year back too…”

“Yeah, but…” Sam paused and held his breath as he looked from Dean’s eyes to his shoulder and back. He was definitely building an anger fast. “Dean, you were hurt back then too.”

“Not bad.” Dean reassured Sam. It hadn’t been more than a broken wrist, but as usual he hadn’t been back to get the cast off or any kind of follow-up.

“Dad, don’t want you to go to the ER, does he?”

“It’s not a good idea.” Dean tried to smile, but the darkness in Sam’s eyes ruined any attempt.

Sam leaned back a little to see the back of Dean’s shoulder and Dean turned so he could see better.

“You’re bleeding through your shirt. Didn’t dad bandage it?”

Dean nodded and sighed as he reached into he duffel and picked up their medical kit. He handed it to Sam. “He did, but he didn’t have time to stich it up.”

Sam’s looked at the little black bag in his hands and suddenly his breath sped up. “But…”

“Sammy…” Dean suppressed a hiss as he lifted his arm and took Sam’s shoulder. “You have to help me here, okay?”

Still with his eyes locked on the bag, Sam shook his head. “He… he can’t just… Dad should have…”

“He didn’t have time.” Dean took Sam’s other shoulder too and waited for him to look up. “He had to hurry back. People were in danger.”

“And what about you?!” Sam stared right into Dean’s eyes, not hiding that water was building in his own. There was only one thing worse than seeing Sam cry. Thankfully, Sam wasn’t angry with Dean, but it hurt him physically to hear his little-brother’s voice crack.

“I’ve got you.” Dean tried with a lighter voice.

Sam shook his head in tiny fast moves. “I’ve never…” He looked down and then he took Dean’s hand from his shoulder and covered it in both of his smaller palms. “…and Dean… you… I’ve seen Dad do this twice and…”

“…And you learned from it. I know you watched closely.” Dean interrupted, knowing where Sam was going with this. He wrapped Sam’s hands around the bag.

Sam looked up; eyes wide with fear. “And you threw up and then passed out… both times.”

Needles was close to being third on the list of things Dean hated the most and he was already trying hard to keep his hands from shaking so Sam would see.

“I won’t this time.” He lifted Sam’s face with a light hand on his chin. “Hey… I won’t, okay?”

It took a while before Sam nodded. Dean wasn’t sure he had convinced Sam completely, but somehow he believed it himself. Sam had seen his share of injuries Dean or their dad came home with, but Dean had wished that he would be older than thirteen before he had to be an active part of any of it. He smiled at Sam and then turned so he had free access to his back.

“You better cut the shirt off. It’s ruined anyway.”

Sam didn’t talk as he found the scissors in the bag and cut Dean’s shirt from the bottom to the neck. The shirt was easy. The bandage was another deal. Dean held his breath as Sam slowly pealed it off and he let the air go in a long and loud exhale as soon as the pain subsided. He felt a warm line running over his back, but Sam stopped it with Dean’s shirt before it reached his pants.

“Grab me the mirror, will ya?” Dean nodded a gesture for the bathroom and Sam silently got the mirror out of the clips on the wall and held it up so Dean could see the cut without hurting his neck. He’d had worse, but it was longer than his dad had let on and by the shaking of the mirror, Sam must also have realized that there was no way around stitches.

Dean cleared his throat and did his best to speak with ease. “Yup, that’s gonna need mending. You better clean it first though.”

“How many?” Sam was still holding the mirror up, and he only looked away from the wound when Dean turned and took it from him.

“Sammy. Sit down.” Dean took Sam’s hand and pulled him down to sit on the bed again.

“How many?”

Dean wanted to say two, because then there wouldn’t be a question about anesthesia but they were far from that. His dad wouldn’t have driven him back if it was that small. He would have put a Band-Aid on it and fixed it later.

“You better make it seven.”

Sam just nodded slowly. It seemed mostly to himself. Dean locked his jaw so tight that he was sure he could break a tooth, as he reached over for the med-kit and took out the syringe.

“Get the suture kit ready.” Dean didn’t look at Sam but he was sure that he’d failed to hide the shake on his voice for his brother. “Antiseptic and bandages too. You know how it goes.”

Sam hummed a confirmative and started pulling gloves and everything else out of the bag. Dean’s stomach churned when he unwrapped the needle and turned the vial with the painkiller upside down. He turned a way from Sam, as to hide that he was struggling to get the needle in there. He’d never done this himself. Their dad hadn’t been hurt a place he couldn’t reach himself. He hated that he had to put Sam through it but even more he hated that he couldn’t hide that he was more nervous than Sam.

“Dean?” Sam asked as if he wasn’t sure Dean was all there.

Dean wasn’t sure he was. Just looking at the filled syringe in his shaking hand made him dizzy. Sam’s hand steadied it a little as he used the other to take the syringe from him.

“Lay down.”

Dean looked at Sam’s small smile and comforting eyes. Why the hell was a thirteen year old, taking care of him. Dean was seventeen. It should be him who was guiding his nervous brother through this, not the other way around.

“I’m good.” Dean sat up straighter and looked Sam in the eyes, mostly to not look at the needle.

“Dean. You’re white as a sheet. If you’re going to help me, you need to be awake. Besides, I can’t lift you up from the floor if you drop.

Sam stepped back a bit waiting for Dean to follow through and Dean figured that Sam would be more at ease with him lying, Dean would be less dizzy too, but that wasn’t the reason that he moved and laid face down.

“Sam.” Dean turned his head so he could see Sam sitting down on the chair next to him. “You’ll do great. You’re the smart one, remember?”

With a small nod, Sam drew in a big breath and sat on the edge of the chair. “So, how am I doing this part?”

Dean closed his eyes and tried not to picture what he was explaining. “A quarter of the drug, two times next to the cut, on each side.” He swallowed deep and took hold on the pillow with both hands. “Only a third of the needle deep.”

“Okay.” Sam put his free hand flat next to the wound to steady himself and Dean. Dean felt him shaking and heard his deep controlled breaths. “Dean…?” Sam’s voice was only slightly louder than a whisper.

“It’s okay, Sammy.” Dean was sure Sam was just checking in on him, since he had his eyes locked firmly on an empty spot on the far wall and was doing everything in his power to not breathe faster than he already did.

Dean heard Sam take an extra deep breath and his head steadied a little. “First one…”

Dean nodded and as he felt the needle pinch his skin he held his breath. The pain wasn’t fun but he could handle that. The worst was the knowing that something was under his skin, something small, that could possibly break and the drugs spreading in the tissue burned that Dean hadn’t learned to fully trust to do the work.

“Two more.” Sam spoke calmly, but too quiet for his usual self.

Somehow, Dean hadn’t felt the first move of the needle. Sam was moving fast enough that the drugs hadn’t stopped burning before the needle was pressing in more. The pain started a bit closer to the shoulder and Dean couldn’t help but tense. He gasped and froze in fear that he was messing everything up and damaging the needle.

“S-Sam…?”

“Almost done with the last one.” Sam didn’t seem as if there was any problems and soon after he took his hands off Dean’s back and the pain subsided.

“Are you okay, Dean?”

With a long, almost meditative, breath, Dean nodded and opened his eyes, looking at his clearly worried little brother. He reached out and took Sam’s wrist to not take his hand and make him change gloves. “I’m fine.”

Sam forced a small smile. “How long should we wait?”

Dean sighed. “Not long. It should start to work right away.” He let go of Sam’s wrist and tugged his hand under the pillow under his head. “Try with a bit of the antiseptic.”

With no answer, Sam sat up again and quickly thereafter, Dean felt something small touch him lightly where the would was.

“I’m good, Sam. Just make sure it’s clean.”

The cleaning was better on Dean. I was cold, but there was no pain, and more importantly; nothing moving around under his skin. When Sam put it all away, Dean felt his stomach clench and he swallowed hard.

“Dean?” Sam sounded nervous again and more concerned than before. “Do you need the trashcan?”

After suppressing a gag, Dean forced himself to get it under control and shook his head. He wasn’t sure talking was the best choice.

“I don’t know how to do this. Dean, we should call dad… or Bobby.”

Sam knew perfectly well that their dad had made up his mind that Sam could do this, and there was no changing that, and Bobby was three states over. Dean lifted his head and ignored the added dizziness. He looked Sam in the eyes and shook his head slowly. With an encouraging smile he let his head fall softly into the pillow and saw Sam bite his lip in thought before Dean closed his eyes.

“You said seven…” Somehow, Sam was talking with determination. Dean had no idea where he’d found that. “Not that I would talk to dad right now… but how many would he say?”

Knowing that Sam was right but still not able to speak without spilling lunch, Dean just turned his head to the other side.

“Okay.” Sam put his hand on Dean’s back again and Dean felt the thin string grace over his side. “Let me know if you need a break.”

Dean bored his fingers into the pillow and had no say in how much his back tensed up. The only sign that Sam was working was the pressure and pulling on his skin and Sam’s breathing through grinding teeth. He tried to count the stitches to get some kind of prediction of how long they were from the end. Sam was making at least eight, maybe nine, but every feeling got impossible to distinctive after the second one. Fighting the nausea or using energy to tense his back, was taking a toll, and soon the room was spinning and he heard his breathing speed up, even though he couldn’t feel it.

“S-Sam…?”

“I see it, Dean. Don’t worry I got it.” Sam was calm and collected.

“I’m… I promised…” Dean heaved in air but couldn’t keep the spinning room from blurring more and his hands from losing sensation.

“I know.” Sam paused and rubbed Dean’s spine with the thumb of the hand still firmly on his back. “It’s fine. I can finish on my own.”

“I’m…” Dean hated himself as his breathing slowed down, before he could help it and his body became weightless. As he slipped away he wasn’t sure if Sam could hear the last word he forced out under his breath. …sorry.”


End file.
